Thestrals and Five Simple Rules
by Why must I be Omelette
Summary: The only people to see the Threstrals were Harry, Neville, and a nameless Slytherin... Book five spoilers.


[Disclaimer: I own nothing.]

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Thestrals and Five Simple Rules__

smallI"There were only two other people who seemed to be able to see them: a stringy Slytherin boy standing just behind Goyle was watching the horse eating with an expression of great distaste on his face, and Neville, whose eyes were following the swishing progress of the long black tail."Iu Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix/ul, page 445./small

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IDon't be weak./I That was the first lesson that Blaise Zabini's father taught him. It's not like he ever consciously sat down and told this to Blaise. Rather he repeated it at frequent intervals from the cradle on, so by the time Blaise was three, and letting his small quick legs take him up and down the lawn until they faltered and he fell flat on his face, he didn't need his father's admonition of, "Don't be weak!" to prevent him from crying; tears just didn't come. 

This bothered his mother, Blaise remembers, his dark and beautiful mother, so young then, although he didn't know how young and beautiful she was until later, when she was no longer there for him to appreciate. She didn't like it that her son, so few years out of her womb, wouldn't cry; she didn't like this cold little monster her husband was trying to warp him into. Those were her exact words. She also said things like "disturbing" and "cruel". Blaise realizes that she probably had no idea that he could understand the full meaning of words like monster and disturbing at that age, much less remember them and tuck them inside his heart until they became knotted inside of him, but still it bothers him that his mother used these words about him. His parents probably didn't know that he would remember the nighttime noises either; those screams and cries and sounds of violence and pain, but Blaise was precocious, a good listener and a good rememberer. 

He remembered the way his father grew only angrier at his mother's protests, and would hit her until she apologized. He always called this cruelty something other than what it was; usually "keeping her in line" or "teaching her a thing or two." From this sprung Blaise's second lesson: I_women are stupid, and they deserve to be hurt/I. _Blaise learned this lesson many times, from every cry of pain coming from his parents' bedroom to every bruise he saw on his mother throughout the day until finally his mother deserved to be hurt so bad that his father killed her, right in front of Blaise. Years later, Blaise wishes that his father had used Avada Kedavra, and let it be done with. Instead, after a particularly acrimonious argument, the six year old Blaise watched silently as his father chased his mother around the house, finally grabbing her by the neck with his large man-hands and stopping her screams of terror with a sickening, final snapping noise that Blaise still hears sometimes when everything else is silent. He still dreams of that day as well, although he will never admit it to anyone.

The remaining bits of Blaise's childhood were filled with other mangled pieces of wisdom from his father. Rule three: I_Never trust the Ministry_./I Apparently Mr. Zabini had been jailed for something before Blaise was born; Blaise never heard the whole story, but had gleaned that it had something to do with terrorizing muggles. He also knew that this had bothered his mother quite a bit— when ever someone said "Azkaban" in her presence, her face would tighten and she would quickly change the subject. If she thought that her husband's time in prison was a disgrace upon the family, the ex-prisoner himself did not: Blaise's father spoke frequently about how he'd just been demonstrating his wizarding pride, which tied in nicely with rule four, I_we are at least as good, if not better than everyone else, especially mudbloods/I. _He often said this with a defensive tone, as if someone was attacking him personally. Blaise learned that his father was very touchy on this subject, but that did not prevent him from foolishly asking one day what the mudbloods had ever done to him. At this, Blaise's father had hit him so soundly across the face that he broke the boy's jaw, and as Blaise sat in his room alone, not crying but wishing his mother was alive to come fix it, he remembered the last of his quintet of essential maxims: I_Don't ask questions./I_

It was such an escape, such a good escape to go to Hogwarts. Despite the fact that his father was never far enough into the elite to be a Death Eater, they were still pureblood— poor, but pure with proper wizarding pride, something those trash Weasleys never had— and he was accepted into the Slytherin crowd quickly. He was determined to be placed into the Slytherin house for this reason, and when the Sorting Hat wavered between Hufflepuff and Slytherin, Blaise protested so fervently that his wish was granted. All those nasty things he'd heard about the Slytherin house from acquaintances were true— they were nastier than the fairly gentle Blaise would had preferred, they were quick to exclude, they were rather sneaky— but also true was the adage frequently impressed onto him by many: I_Slytherins take care of their own_./I In the house of Slytherin he found friends, people who did not care that he was small and stringy, so much like a malnourished horse, or that he was poor or had a father who was not a Death Eater. They only cared that he was one of them. They accepted him, befriended him, and even left him alone when he preferred to be by himself, which was quite often.

However, as the years passed, Blaise felt increasingly at odds with the rest of his house. Despite the remains of his father's second rule that still lingered somewhere in his subconscious, Blaise really was a gentle person, and while he enjoyed listening to his classmates insult Potter and his fan club, it bothered him when they picked on the truly defenseless, like that Gryffindor, Neville Longbottom. His silent resentment toward his house mates only increased over the years, coming to an unbearable climax in his fifth year, the first after Lord Voldemort's resurrection. His fellow Slytherins talked openly about Voldemort and the death eaters, and it was not unusual to hear wishes and predictions for who would be killed by Voldemort. Harry Potter was the name dropped most often, but other names came up frequently as well, always followed by the assurance that, "Diggory was only the first!"

Blaise hated this. In his second year, when the threat of death loomed low over the castle, he had realized that he did not care for the Death Eaters or for the idea of Lord Voldemort's return. He remembered his mother's death, and the unbearable pain and emptiness he had felt even at six years old, and realized with a jolt that every time the Dark Mark had flown up into the sky, another family had felt that pain, another web of people had suffered. How could he approve of that, how could he have ever thought it was acceptable to kill anybody— mudblood or not— or to rejoice in death, in the only too real pain that so many felt? Even now, in their fifth year, Draco Malfoy and the others did not understand this of course, they had not understood it last year when the school murmured Diggory's name with a tasteless toast, they did not understand it this year, when Hagrid had shown them the Thestrals and only he, Harry Potter, and Neville Longbottom were able to see them— they would never know the terrible burden and pain of loss, would never understand that no one should have to see a Thestral, and see within it, death. Would his friends be able to see the beasts later on in life, after they fulfilled their Death Eater duties with blood? Would they understand then? He doubted it.

Another drawing point between Blaise and his house mates, although they did not know it, was rule three, growled so many times by his father. Most of the Slytherins were allying themselves with the ministry by assisting the foul Umbridge woman. Not only did Blaise find it ironic that they were assisting the very people who would most likely jail their fathers when Voldemort came out into the open, he found it disgusting. Despite the fact that Blaise was as ambitious and crafty as the rest of the Slytherins, he also had a marked preference for fair play, which was probably why he had almost landed in Hufflepuff. What his fellows were doing was not fair in the least. 

Blaise's feeling of indignation about his house mates' shamelessness was probably the reason that he listened with much interest as two Hufflepuffs standing near to him in the courtyard during break talked about something called the D.A. What he heard intrigued him. The Hufflepuffs were rather indiscreet; they said more than they should have, revealing just enough so that Blaise was able to figure out what exactly the D.A. was. It was a secret organization, judging by the fact that they talked about meetings and made a joke about how Umbridge would react if she found out. I_It's not that funny/I_, Blaise wanted to tell them, I_if she found out, you'd be expelled, and knowing how things are right now, probably arrested too./I_ He stayed silent, however; he did not want them to know he was listening. They talked about some of the members— apparently Potter was a big part of it— and as the one closest to him, a girl who he thought was named Hannah mentioned in passing that she _still_ could not conjure a decent Patronus or properly do the _Impedimentia_ spell, he had a revelation: I_this was a defense against the dark arts club/I. _His first thought was not to report them— quite the opposite. Rather, he wondered wistfully when the next meeting was and what they would say if he showed up. It would be full of mudbloods, of course, but at least he'd be away from the other Slytherins, whose behavior was making him seriously wish he had let the Sorting Hat place him wherever it wanted.

He thought about this matter for the next few days, roaming the hallways after dinner in hopes of seeing a group of Gryffindors rushing somewhere and listening carefully to conversations in hope of picking up some more information. He heard nothing, however, and the week passed normally until one night, he found that many people were missing from his common room. He thought nothing of this at first; there seemed to be always something going on, and now that the Umbridge's Inquisitorial Squad of Slytherins had been formed, Draco and his friends were often absent. However, he quickly became aware that something had happened when Draco paraded into the common room, followed by his friends, who were all talking loudly and excitedly.

"We got them!" Draco announced loudly in an arrogant, bragging voice, and the whole common room looked at him with interest, including Blaise, who was now sitting bolt upright in his armchair. "Potter and his whole fan club— they had an illegal defense club, we caught them at it," he said with a smirk. "Must have been almost thirty of them running in every direction."

Blaise's heart sunk at these words. It was all over then; the stand against the Ministry and Voldemort was over, and his last chance to separate himself from his house was gone. At once, he hated everything about Malfoy; his arrogant stance, his expensive shoes, his sharply pointed nose. Blaise felt anger building up within in him. Forcing himself to remember his father's first rule, he let his rage fold itself into a tiny square, and slip itself somewhere between his ribs for another day. 

"You should have been there, Zabini," Draco said grinning, as he sat down in a chair next to Blaise. The look on their faces…" He paused, obviously savoring the memory. "I bet they'll all be gone by tomorrow, filthy mudblood-lovers." He snickered. "I suppose they were trying to defend themselves against the Dark Lord, but boo hoo, of course Umbridge still won't believe Dumbledore's precious Potty when he says that Voldemort's back. By the time she realizes that for once Potter's telling the truth, she'll be dead," he finished with a smirk.

Blaise looked out the window, and saw a pair of Thestrals flying over the Forbidden Forest. "Tell me about it," he said turning to Draco, yet still glancing at the Thestrals out of the corner of his eye. I_Some day/I,_ he thought, aware of the hatred slowly building up in his veins as Draco bragged about their apprehension of the D.A. members, I_I will teach you what death means. Not today, but another day, very soon./I _

Blaise watched the Thestrals with a smile.


End file.
